


beanstalks

by Ryah_Ignis



Series: Season 14 Codas [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 14x07 coda, Jack is dying and everyone is sad, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryah_Ignis/pseuds/Ryah_Ignis
Summary: “Where do you think you’re going?” Dean demands, just as Cas hits the steps without acknowledging him.Cas spins around, fast enough that the coat whips behind him. “I’m going to Sergei, and I’m going to kill him.  Then, I’m going to ransack his trailer until I find something that can help Jack.”There’s a desperation in his eyes that Dean remembers from the days of the civil war with Raphael.  His heart lurches at the thought that that version of Cas could ever return."14x07 Coda.  Sam and Rowena talk, and Cas and Dean do what they can for Jack.





	beanstalks

Sam feels wrung out, like he can’t even summon one last drop of emotion about this latest failure. Instead, he watches, numb, as Jack’s chest rises and falls at increasingly ragged intervals.

It feels like sitting across from Dean in a ratty motel room as the clock wound down, two days from the end, already imagining the way a hellhound’s claws would sound on the linoleum. It feels like demon blood in emptied-out milk cartons and the Horsemen’s rings digging into his palms.

Inevitable. Permanent.

Except not really, because neither of those endings had ever really been the end. Sam can’t help but think that this really is it.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Rowena says.

Dean and Cas have long since vanished into another corner of the bunker. Sam can’t help but think that his brother is looking for one of the bottles of ridiculously expensive whiskey that Crowley stashed in various weird places around the bunker. As for Cas—well. He hopes he’s going to angelically clean out Dean’s liver afterwards.

“No, wait.”

She pauses in the doorway, one hand resting on the doorframe. Sam has been meaning to talk to her for weeks now, but things have been a bit crazy lately. This time is as good as any.

“We need to talk.”

Rowena raises one manicured eyebrow, suspicion seeping from every ounce of her expression. Sam clears his throat, looks back at Jack. It seems wrong to have this conversation in front of him.

“At least get something to drink before you go,” Sam says, before he even really knows what he’s saying. “On the house.”

She follows him through to the kitchen. Luckily, Dean and Cas haven’t retreated there. It was his brother’s refuge for a long time, but ever since the bunker started getting regular visitors from the refugee hunters, he hasn’t been sticking around there as much. Sam has been meaning to talk to him about it. Oh well. The problem will still be there once Jack—after he—

“Did you drive?” he asks, opening the fridge.

Rowena stares at him. “Samuel. Are you implying that I can’t hold my liquor? I  _ do  _ have magic, you know.”

Sam shakes his head. Lately, he’s been keeping an eye on alcohol intake around the bunker. For one, he doesn’t want Lebanon’s single police officer to pull over someone who doesn’t legally exist for driving under the influence. 

Screw  _ hunter culture  _ or however Dean describes it. The last thing he needs is a bunch of miniature John Winchesters walking around.

Rowena finally settles on one of those fruity wine coolers that Mom keeps around (“Don’t judge me, they taste good!”). Sam snags a beer for himself and drops on to one of the benches next to the table. Rowena sits herself primly across from him.

“What is this about?”

Sam lets out a breath. “Nick. Lucifer’s vessel.”

Rowena’s face goes a shade lighter than her usual, her sharp features and makeup standing out against the white. Sam resists the urge to reach across the table and comfort her. Rowena, after all, isn’t a thing like the other world’s hunters.

“He’s alive.”

She stands up, sending the bench skittering behind her. The wine cooler nearly tips over. Sam holds his hands out, palms up, placating.

“You told me Dean killed him!”

Her voice is at least an octave higher than normal. Sam clears his throat.

“He’s dead. You think I’d lie about that?”

Rowena holds his gaze for a long moment, searching for something that she can’t find. Some trick. Sam lets her think.

“But this—this Nick. He survived?”

Sam shrugs. “Wound to the side. Fatal to an archangel because of the blade, but not quite enough to kill a human.”

That’s what he’s been telling himself, anyway. He has to. If he thinks about Gadreel, lurking in his subconscious, hidden until he chose to reveal himself, he’ll never sleep again.

“He’s been missing for a few weeks,” Sam explains. “I think staying—seeing hunters, seeing me—it was too much for him. I just wanted you to know, in case you ran into him somehow.”

It was exactly the sort of ridiculous coincidence that wouldn’t even surprise him at this point.

Rowena sits in silence for a long time, contemplating it. At last, Sam can’t keep the question in any longer.

“Why did you help Jack?” Sam asks. “Knowing who his father is—”

Rowena drains her drink in one quick swig that Sam hasn’t seen from anyone but Dean. “Lucifer killed me once, Samuel.”

Sam looks down. He can’t even really feel the table beneath his grip, but he’s holding on tightly enough to bleach his knuckles white. Rowena can’t meet his eyes, either. They both just stare ahead of them.

“It took him twenty-three minutes,” she continues, voice so quiet that Sam can hardly hear it. “Twenty-three minutes for one death.”

She begins to pull a peacoat over her shoulders. 

“He had you for 63,072,008 if Fergus was to be believed.”

Sam flinches despite himself. Wonders what else Crowley knew about his time downstairs. Wonders who was counting.

“Yet you look at that boy and all I can see is love.”

He nods. Suddenly, despite the fact that he hasn’t cried throughout this entire ordeal, Sam’s throat closes over.

“There must be something special about him.”

Sam swallows, wills for the feeling to go away. When he finally manages to meet Rowena’s eyes again, she offers him a small, sad smile. He thinks about the Book of the Damned and the spell that needed a young Scottish man.

“Careful. You’re getting sentimental.”

It’s like Rowena’s pulled a shade over her expression. “Don’t go expecting it again, Sam Winchester.”

* * *

Cas is usually a pretty quiet guy. But when he doesn’t say a word as he brushes by Dean out the door, Dean follows him. To his surprise, Cas doesn’t head to Jack’s room to grab his favored hoodie or to his own for some time to himself. Instead, he heads for the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dean demands, just as Cas hits the steps without acknowledging him.

Cas spins around, fast enough that the coat whips behind him. “I’m going to Sergei, and I’m going to kill him. Then, I’m going to ransack his trailer until I find something that can help Jack.”

There’s a desperation in his eyes that Dean remembers from the days of the civil war with Raphael. His heart lurches at the thought that that version of Cas could ever return.

“Cas. Come on, man, he doesn't’t have anything. He’s a scammer. We should have expected that from any associate of Ketch’s.”

They’d been so desperate for any solution that they’d been willing to take the handful of magic beans. They should have known better.

For a moment, he thinks that Cas is going to ignore him and fly off in a huff anyway. Instead, something in him crumples. His shoulders sag, and suddenly the trench coat looks several sizes too large. Dean guides him to sit beside him on the steps.

“You did everything you could.”

Cas just stares straight ahead. “I told Kelly I would protect him. I thought that would mean from the outside world. Not his own body.”

Dean places a hand on his knee and squeezes gently. Cas leans into his side.

“He told me today that he had a good life.”

Cas’s breath catches. Thinking back on the memory of it—the rush of the water, the quiet whirring noise of his line whipping out into the river—Dean can’t quite breathe right, either. Jack was right. He’s been thinking about that time Bobby took him fishing ever since the other version of him stepped through the rift.

“He spent half of it being tortured by Michael,” Cas manages.

Dean closes his eyes. He hasn’t spoken about it to Sam yet, but sometimes he thinks he knows just as much about Michael as he does about him. Thinks he can see things from before the possession, like Mom screaming. Jack locked in a cage. The world in flames.

“If it had been up to me,” Dean says once he manages to shake the disturbing images from his mind, “I would have killed him.”

Cas flinches, but Dean keeps talking.

“Once I knew what he was capable of, I wouldn’t have stopped looking until I found a way to ice him. But you and Sam, you wouldn’t give up on him. You’re the reason he thinks he’s had a good life.”

Cas laughs, bitter. “He doesn’t know any better.”

At that, Dean can’t help a smile. “Hell, Cas, do any of us? You think any sane person would think  _ I’ve  _ had a good life?”

Cas stares at him in that searing, angelic way of his. The kind of look that used to make Dean wonder just how much angels could read minds. “Do you?”

Dean looks out on the rest of the bunker in front of him. Growing up in motel rooms, he’d never known what it was like to have a home you couldn’t pace to the other end of. Hadn’t known what it was like to rely on more than just Sam and Dad.

“Yeah,” he says at last, dropping his hand from Cas’s knee.

He tangles his fingers in Cas’s instead. Cas smiles down, fleetingly, at their joined hands.

“You’ve helped.”

Cas’s grip tightens. “I don’t want him to hurt. He—he’s a child, still, even if he doesn’t look it.”

Dean lets out a breath. “Yeah.”

He can’t stand the thought of just letting Jack waste away, but what other choice do they have?

“Come here.”

He pulls Cas into a sloppy sideways hug, complicated by the railings and the fact that they’re both sitting down. If Cas is uncomfortable, he doesn't show it. He just burrows further into Dean’s arms. Dean presses a kiss to the top of his head.

Finally, Dean lets go.

“Go get a  _ Star Wars  _ movie, all right? I’m gonna get the TV set up so he can watch it with us.”

Cas lets out a shuddering breath. Then, he squares his shoulders. “I refuse to watch the first one again.”

Dean rolls his eyes, faking a lighter tone. “You mean the best film ever made? Fine, but I pick the snacks.”

There’s not a lot they can do for Jack, sure. But what they can do, they’ll do together.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading and commenting!


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